Bubbling Over
by Of Sandwiches and Sea-Monsters
Summary: AU sequel to Storm in a Tea-Cup. What if Matthew had followed Mary out of Crawley House as you all wish he had? In other words, a subtle exploration of the Slap Slap Kiss trope. For those of you who miss S01. Now with added heated rain kissing!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Don't you all just miss S01? Banter, denial, hate!flirting... Those were the days. This is the AU sequel to Storm in a Tea-cup. You don't have to read that first - basically it's set after the flower show, Matthew and Mary argue some more and misunderstand each other over tea at Crawley House and Mary storms out. In that fic, Matthew doesn't follow her. In this, exactly what you wish had happened happens and he does... If you read that story first then the build up to this is EVEN BETTER so we really think you should, but it's not obligatory to enjoy this!_

_First posted on the MMMondayMadness LJ community quite a long time ago..._

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><p>Grabbing her things roughly, Matthew pushed open the door. She had not got far yet.<p>

"Mary!" he shouted after her, unable to disguise the frustration in his voice. A part of him would really rather just fling them at her.

Mary had walked swiftly away, pouring all her repressed anger and frustration into her strides and her fists balled at her sides. She simply had to get away from that house and Matthew before she did or said something she regretted. When she heard his voice behind her something inside of her twisted and she stopped in her tracks, closing her eyes briefly in pain, as she realised he had followed her. Then she hardened her heart. There was no point in rehashing the argument. She started to walk again without turning around.

She had heard him. It was obvious. And she chose to walk away. Matthew begain to boil with fury. How dare she rebuff him so rudely! He had invited her in, and she had insulted him and flounced off with not even a word to him, and was now ignoring him. He was nearly physically shaking with anger as he took long, determined strides towards her. He didn't know why he followed her, he wasn't even sure he could bear to look at her, but he seemed to be possessed, unable to stand by and let her leave after such behaviour.

He swiftly caught up to her and grasped her elbow sharply. "Mary." His low voice simmered with barely surpressed rage.

She gasped as he grabbed her, too caught up in her own simmering feelings to have perceived his approach behind her. She spun on the spot to glare at him, her eyes widening at the fury she saw in his eyes. She had never seen him like this and it was becoming harder to control her own feelings. How dare he look at her like that? She wanted to shake him, slap him, mark him in some way, make him understand; though understand _what_, she could not imagine.

"Let go of me, Matthew!" she almost hissed at him. It was becoming really very hard to maintain her own control.

Glaring angrily at her, for a second he actually tightened his grip on her elbow, determined that he did not want to appear as though he were giving in. After a charged moment had passed, he snatched his hand away.

"You know, Mary," his lips barely moved as he spat the words out, "it is very rude to leave without saying goodbye to your host." He didn't know what he wanted her to say. He just wanted her to realise how furious he was, how he would not stand to let her treat him in such a way.

Mary's jaw dropped momentarily in shock at what he chose to say before she pulled herself together again. She could not understand what she had done to make him so angry. He had been quite happy to insult her casually in the most inane way before but what had _she_ done to him?

"I said goodbye to your mother, and if she is displeased with my manners then I would hope she would tell me so herself! I would hate to be accused of ill-breeding to a woman as respectable as Cousin Isobel!" She managed to make it sound like an insult though she really had no intention of attacking Isobel, for whom she did feel genuinely sorry, after what had happened.

Matthew's lips set into a hard line at her words. It took him a moment or two to regroup enough to be able to reply, "I did not speak of my mother." His eyes continued to frostily challenge her.

Her anger had to be dispelled somewhere, so she went onto the offensive, as so often happened with Edith, though she hated Matthew seeing her like this, and that acknowledgement only made her feel more resentful.

"Then of whom?" she retorted sarcastically. "Surely not of yourself! I was brought up to believe hosts did not insult their guests and then preach to them. But perhaps things are different in Manchester!"

Her words hit Matthew like a slap around the face.

"They are indeed!" If she referred to what he believed, he was displeasingly stunned that her attitude could have caused his inadvertent words to rile her so. He leaned forwards, his eyes narrowing as he hissed at her, "In Manchester, people are not so ridiculously self-absorbed as to take offense at their good deeds being spoken of to others!"

She opened her mouth in disbelief and could not help a brief, mirthless and scornful laugh. "Self-absorbed? Listen to yourself! At least in Downton we do not consider taking a concern in the affairs of those less fortunate as something to be marvelled at!"

"Forgive me if you took my enquiring to my mother after an old lady you'd visited to be marvelling! You overestimate my opinion of you if you thought it such!"

He raised his eyebrows, his voice taking on an unpleasantly (even seeming so to him) scornful tone. He did not know where it came from, and would never have dreamed of speaking to a lady in such a manner before, but she wrenched it from him.

"And yes!" His voice raised, ringing strange in his own ears. "I do call it self-absorbed! That you should care _so_ much about what others might think, that they might discover that the great and haughty Lady Mary Crawley might _just_have a small bone of good-nature buried deep within her cold soul!"

For a second Mary was too shocked to reply. She had stepped away from him as he raged at her, almost physically pushed back by his vehemence. Now there was an awful silence and all she could hear was the painful beating of her heart.

"Well!" she exlaimed eventually, staring at him in horror and something deeper and sadder than horror. "I shall not overestimate your opinion of me again! You have made your feelings abundently clear." She was quite unable to look away from him, drawn compulsively to the situation as she might be to a road accident. "I only wish I had never apologised for my behaviour at the dinner now!" she bit off. "I really cannot see the point of it."

Matthew took a step back, having quite shocked himself even. He was appalled at his own behaviour, and was desperately trying not to realise what it truly was that had driven him to it. He stood simply staring at her for a moment, his eyes wide with hatred at the both of them and frustration for his inability to speak rationally to her. He closed his mouth, lowering his head slightly as he peered at her with greater consideration than a moment ago, having collected his thoughts a little.

"Do you know why it angers me so much, Mary?" he asked simply, his voice a little calmer now, though he did not feel it.

She stared back, distrusting his calm as much as his anger. She shook her head, replying in a similiar, bitter tone. "I cannot imagine, Matthew. But please feel at liberty to remain silent. I am not sure I care to have my behaviour dissected any more today!"

He pursed his lips angrily. "I only wished to say," his harsh, low voice shook dangerously, "that it upsets me greatly that you should want to hide that side of yourself. It seems such a terrible waste of your character." He did not know why on earth he was saying these things; he didn't seem to know anything about himself in regards to her anymore.

Mary was no longer able to rationalize what was happening. She stepped forward frowning in frustrated confusion.

"You come out here, you grab my elbow-" (her eyes flickered down to his hand) "you insult me most dreadfully, you raise your voice against me, and why? Because you would rather I broadcast my charity abroad like the worst kind of self-satisfied, condescending prig? Good God, Matthew, that's absurd! I do what I do - why should you care?"

"Oh for pity's sake, Mary! Did I say that I should like you to broadcast it?" He found his voice rising in frustration once more. "I meant you should not be ashamed of it, that is a very different matter! Why must you twist everything I say!" He took a small steps towards her, drawing his breath in sharply as he realised how close it brought him; yet he did not back away. He gestured furiously but uselessly. "I don't know why I should care!" he flung the words at her, nearly shouting in frustration at himself as well as her. "But I do! And it maddens me that I do, but there you have it!" He let his arm drop, his chest heaving from his sudden outburst.

Feeling somewhat bared and exposed, eyeing her warily for her reaction, he suddenly remembered that he held her belongings still. He looked down at her coat and basket over his arm, her hat in his hand, and seemed to wilt a little. His voice much lower, in an unconcious attempt to deflect from himself, he held his arm out in her direction.

"Here," he muttered quietly. "These are the reason I followed you." He could not quite meet her eyes now.

For a moment he was out of control and he spoke the truth. Mary saw that and it almost stopped her heart. Without mentally processing it, she understand that he was angry with himself as much as she was with herself. It did not lessen her anger towards him but it brought other feelings to the fore as well, feelings she would rather deny. Swallowing and stepping towards him warily, she took her hat from his hand and put it on her head, her eyes never leaving his and then took her coat and shrugged it on, not bothering to do up the buttons. The basket though, she hesitated over. It felt too symbolic.

"What else would you like to know then?" she said, less angrily than before though still in quite a hard tone. "Perhaps I should reassure you that I do not mistreat the servants, and add that contrary to what you seem to think, it bothers me a great deal that my tenants-" it was a real slip and she corrected herself with more frustration, "that my father's tenants are well housed." She glared at him with less fury and more desire to simply impress her point on him.

He watched her, frowning warily. It seemed utterly ridiculous, but her words struck a chord in him somewhere. Though she had spoken flippantly, she had spoken the truth, he sensed. But her words, and her slip, still managed to rile him.

"You think I have a very low opinion of you, don't you?" his voice took on a sharp, unpleasant edge again. "I never imagined you to be so cold as you would apparently have everyone think!" His expression hardened. "And if you care so much for your father's tenants, it baffles me that you should so evidently wish me to fail! For like it or not, Mary, I am their future. I did not ask for this position, and God knows I know you hate me for it, but what should you like me to do about it?"

Mary felt herself grow more uncomfortable as he spoke. There was a dangerous aspect to his voice that made her feel strangely on edge. Her hand had grasped the basket just along from his but at the end of his speech she was so shocked that she did not pull it away but her eyes lept to his face in wide-eyed amazement.

"I don't want you to fail!" Why would he think that? At least, not since the very first months after his arrival. "What would be gained by that?"

Matthew blinked, frowning in confusion. "I don't know, Mary!" He flung his arms in frustration. "I know that you resent me for it though - you look positively pained every time your father is pleased with something I have done!"

Having failed to hold the basket tightly enough, when Matthew let go, she dropped it, and ignored it. She opened and shut her mouth several times before spluttering, "Yes! Because he never looks at me that way! You're not his son, Matthew, but he wishes you were! I can see that perfectly clearly- and it hurts! Would it kill you to be a little less successful?"

Having spoken, she realised what she had said and retreated in vulnerable surprise at herself. She looked away from him, her eyes racing around every aspect of the ground and nearby road that was not him.

Staring in shocked disbelief at her, Matthew was deeply pained by her words. "Mary, how can you say that?" His blood began to boil once more, his voice rising with a dangerous tremor. "Do you honestly think he would not rather it could pass to you? Do you not think that I would be thrown over in but a moment if it were possible!" He stepped towards her again, his hands clenching by his sides. "And as for this ridiculous notion, you would rather that I endeavour less than my best, risking everything that your father has worked so hard to uphold, for the sake of your pride?" He shook his head in sharp disappointment at her.

Mary shook her head, retreating even more, though she physically stood her ground, almost trembling in front of him.

"You're wrong," she replied in a near whisper. "You're wrong, Matthew. He never wanted to contend the entail. I know - I understand that it cannot be broken, that it never could have been, but he never once - he never once wanted to try."

Her voice caught on the last phrase and she bitterly hated herself for it and for saying it at all. She had had no intention of speaking so openly. In fact, considering the way Matthew had behaved towards her, she had no idea why she was doing so. It was an odd compulsion. It was not even a need to defend herself, for that should have resulted in more anger, but she knew that her situation was hopeless. Perhaps if he understand, he would leave her alone.

Matthew drew in his breath sharply at the vulnerability she displayed in her reply. Suddenly, he felt incredibly sorry for her, and his anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by pity.

"Mary..." His voice lowered, gentler now. He tentatively reached out to her, though not quite touching her. "You have a poor opinion of your father, also, if you believe that indicates anything of his regard for you. He knew it was futile, and that is the end of it. Could you not trust that he would already have sought a way out of it?"

Somehow his gentleness was worse. Despite her speech seeming to suggest it, she did not want his pity.

"There is no way out of it!" she replied, firing up again though once more the frustration was not really directed at him but at the situation as a whole, theirs currently and more generally as well. "I went from being the future mistress of my home to merely someone who could only look on as it passed away from me! You're not the only one whose life changed forever when poor Patrick died!"

"I know that, Mary, and believe me I am sorry for it!" His voice rose once again in response to the accusation in her tone. "What would you have me do though?" He flung his words bitterly. "Would you rather I rejected the inheritance that has passed to me and left? Or would you rather I do the best that I damn well can and learn to keep the estate safe when it falls to me? Tell me, which of those would you rather I do?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to simply say that he should just take her to the cottages as he had originally suggested, but of course she did not. She only shot back, "The latter, of course!" which ended up sounding as if she was going to say something more but she did not, only staring at him in a frowning frustration that she could no longer verbally express.

He found himself quite stunned by her straightforward exclamation. He did not know what answer he had expected from his outburst, but it was not that. He stood, staring defiantly back at her, his heart pounding.

"At least we agree on something then, it seems!" he snapped ungallantly.

"I could change my mind if you preferred!" Mary retorted drily without thinking, and then managed to look taken aback at herself, though still she simply stood there meeting his gaze, however oddly he looked at her. It was a strange moment for wit.

His eyes narrowed angrily at her flippancy. His mouth pulled almost into a sneer as he snapped back, "Think as you like, Mary, and do as you wish. It seems I can do nothing right by you whatever the case!"

She found her breath come faster as once again she managed to anger him and his anger riled her in turn. "You've not really been trying very hard though, have you?" She ought to stop needling him but he seemed to take everything the wrong way and she had run out of ways to deflect the situation.

"And you feel yourself qualified to comment on my efforts, do you?" he threw back at her, his words practically dripping with angry contempt. "It seems an impossible task to please you no matther how hard I try! I could blithey agree with your every whim if you prefer, but I hardly think you'd find that satisfying!" She made him so angry! What right did she have to comment on how he tried so desperately to create a good opinion of himself to her!

Mary's eyes flashed as she felt something stab through her. She drew in the air sharply. "No, not very satisfying at all... But you admit you are trying!"

She supposed she ought to have known that considering his behaviour at the dinner. Oh, she had known at some level but hearing it in his own words was, well ... satisfying.

A frown flashed across Matthew's face at her smug remark, as it rendered him speechless. He stared at her closely, trying to read what was in her mind. He could not put his finger on it, but something felt to have shifted suddenly in the atmosphere. His eyes searched hers; he did not know what he hoped to find in them. His heart began to pound in his chest, and he felt the blood rise in his cheeks. What was this he was feeling? He was angry, so angry at her, but his anger was tinged with something deeper, something that terrified him.

She had not expected silence from him. The satisfaction drained away, leaving her feeling empty and on edge. His stance had subtly shifted and her eyes roamed over his face, wondering at him, as her hands at her side clutched and released at her coat, in an effort to relieve the tension she was feeling. The space and silence between them seemed stifling and she was finding it harder to breathe. She had no idea what she could possibly say and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Matthew swallowed hard, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered over her face cautiously, a feeling of panic rising in his chest. His lips parted a fraction, and he drew in a sharp breath. What was going through her mind? Why did he care? Everything around him slowly seemed to fade from his consciousness but her.

Mary was thinking absolutely nothing. There seemed to be a roaring in her ears blocking out all thoughts, all considerations save for the man in front of her. She was not even aware of standing upright. With a sharp movement she shook her head as if to try to rid herself of her blindness but it did not work. Her eyes were drawn back to his in a panic and he seemed to loom over her - had she moved or had he or was it only an illusion? and she opened her mouth to say his name in a warning, but no sound managed to come out.

She seemed to have imperceptibly come closer to him, and he to her. It was as though he were being pulled towards her by a force quite outside of himself. As he saw her lips part, a sharp flash of absolute need shot through him from head to toe. His eyes fixed singularly upon her lips, and before he knew what was happening, he was kissing her, clutching her fiercely to him, crushing his lips to hers in desperate frustration.

"Oh!" cried Mary silently as she fell against him. She could not say whether she had moved against him or he had pulled her, but she was in his arms and her own clutched at his shoulders moulding herself against him, and she kissed him fiercely, as she had not thought she could. Her head swam and she was unable to distinguish the need that had flared up in her the instant his lips had touched hers from her continuous desire to brand and hurtfully mark him that she had felt all afternoon.

Matthew let out a soft moan of passion and fury, muffled by her lips, as he responded fiercely. Pangs of intense desire flashed through him, mingling with the rage and frustration he felt at the mere thought of her. His hands slipped to clasp around the back of her neck, and he could not resist scratching his nails against her skin as he clutched her more desperately to him.

At the feeling of his nails on her skin she shuddered and tore her lips away from him, staring wildly into his eyes. What on earth were they doing? Matthew gasped slightly as she tore away for a second, searching her eyes for any hint of regret or remorse but there was none, and frankly he did not care about ought else but the feel of her against him.

Mary's hesitation only lasted a second. The desire to touch him and assuage the fire in her was too great. She pulled him down to her again, her hands fisting in his hair and round his neck. He willingly yielded to her pull, desire swirling almost unbearably in his core. A ragged gasp tore from his throat as he kissed her desperately, biting her lower lip gently and gripping her waist so hard he feared he might bruise her.

It was not enough - it was too much! She felt entirely undone by him and the sensations he invoked. She felt she could not let go. She wrapped both her arms round him and clung closer to him and in that moment he was her world and though consciously she could never have said it, then she wished he could know it. She moaned into his mouth and bit back, wanting him to feel it as much as her.

A strangled gasp tore from Matthew's throat as she bit his lip hard. He pulled back a second and looked into her eyes with such shock and raw need that he could hardly comprehend it himself. His mind having ceased to function rationally a long time ago, he slipped his hands around the back of her neck and pulled her back to him almost ferociously, simulatenously loving and hating her.

Every time their lips parted, Mary sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes meeting his, both seeing him and not seeing him before she surrendered herself to him again - a strange surrender that was not surrender at all, but a battle for domination that she was quite determined to win. As he pulled her back towards him she fisted her hands into his hair, almost tugging on it. She was determined that he should be truly aware of her in every way, and triumph mixed in with desire rose up within her as she felt that he was, and she did not lessen the intensity and ferocity of her response to him.

Physically trembling at the intensity of her response, Matthew pressed himself against her unrelentingly, determined to crush out any inch of space between them. The pressure of his body forced her backwards, until nearby tree halted their progress. He grunted in satisfaction as he slammed her against it, knocking the breath out of him as he continued his assault on her lips.

If her aim had been to get a reaction from him then she could tell she had succeeded. Pressed up between the unrelenting tree trunk (or whatever it was - she had no idea) and Matthew's trembling, warm body, she squirmed against him, craving a greater, impossible closeness, arching her neck to bring her face closer to his. She responded desperately, as her hands clutched and tugged at his hair, shoulders, arms and waist.

Her movement sent pangs of desire shooting through Matthew to his core. He pressed himself as closely to her as he could, it simply not being enough. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss almost unbearably, his lips absolutely raw from the pressure of it. A quiet groan escaped him but was lost in her mouth. He grasped her hands, pressing them against the trunk as if to trap her there.

Mary objected as her hands were wrenched from their exploration of Matthew's back and pressed back against the tree. Still, it brought his body ever more closely pressed against hers so it was not all bad. Trying to mirror that closeness with her hands, she turned her palm over and entwined her fingers with his, as tightly as she could. Twisting her head to respond to his deep, exploratory kiss, she caught his lip between his teeth and bit harder than she intended as another stab of desire shot through her.

Matthew let out a small yelp of pain, tasting blood. Though the sensation served only to strengthen his desire, the shock of it caused his body to jerk away from her involuntarily. Suddenly extremely aware of what they had just been doing, he stared at her in a state of shock, his mouth open and lips shining and swollen from hers. He didn't notice that their hands were still entwined.

Mary stared right back at him in amazement, chest rising and falling, tingling and feeling warm all over. She could not yet see him as Matthew, only as the cause of the rush of sensations she still felt pounding in her veins. She clung to his fingers as a last connection to him. She had had no idea, no idea at all, that it could be like this. As she started to come to herself, she realised why he had pulled away and, parting her lips only a little further than they already were, said in a voice that was not her own - deeper and hoarser, "I hurt you. I'm sorry." She could only stare.

Matthew's chest heaved as he breathed raggedly, feeling entirely out of control. He swallowed, licking his lips, not knowing whether he wanted to cherish or rid himself of the remnants of her. Unable to form any coherent response, he continued to stare warily, shaking his head. "No... No. It is no matter." Unconsciously, his hands clutched hers tighter. His entire being seemed to tremble.

His hair was mussed, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, his breathing shallow. She had done this and he was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. Her eyes flicked all over his face and neck and blushed to see his pulse jump. The instinct to lean forward and kiss it was overpowering. She sucked in a cold breath and tried to control the urge. It was Matthew! And she - she didn't even know what she thought or felt anymore.

The faint blush of exertion tinging Mary's cheeks made Matthew's heart leap. He didn't know or care whether it was from desire or shame, but it was beautiful. Wild thoughts and emotions tumbled through his brain, and he trembled slightly as he tried to process them.

"Mary..." His voice sounded ragged and strained in his ears. "I - I don't..." He felt that something _should_ be said, only he had no idea what it should be.

Her eyes jumped back to his as he spoke even as the sound of his voice and its strangeness terrified her. She was grateful for the tree behind her supporting her as her knees now began to tremble in delayed shock. She swallowed.

"No," she replied softly with a very faint, nervous smile, "I don't either."

Relief seemed to sweep through him at her hint of a smile. Blinking nervously, he lowered his eyes, surprised to see that he still held her hands. He wondered if maybe he should let them go, but couldn't quite bring himself to. He looked back up at her, allowing his eyes briefly to roam over her flushed features, taking in every ounce of her that he could.

He spoke tremulously. "I feel that I must apologise, cousin Mary." His eyes pleaded with her; he didn't know what for. He hated the effect she had on him. He would never, ever have even contemplated such wild behaviour... And yet strangely, he found himself unable to care.

What his words were saying was contradicted by his eyes. Mary's eyebrows knit together in a frown. She understood his apology. What they had done was impossible, ridiculous, quite out of the question, inconceivable - and yet had happened. She was trying desperately to feel sorry but she could not. She felt too wonderful and no more wanted to release his hand than cut off her own, so for a moment longer she was weak and did not move. But how could she apologise for something she did not feel sorry about and which she did not believe he did either? It was a terrifying thought and she could not consider it.

"Yes. I feel I ought to too," she said after a long pause, still frowning.

Matthew's eyes narrowed a fraction. She felt she _ought_ to apologise? Could he take that to mean that she did not regret what they had done? He did not dare to ask her. Her kiss, and its devastatingly potent effect on him, terrified him. It should not have happened. It must not happen again. A pang of regret flitted through him at the realisation.

"Yes." he said simply, his eyes dropping from her gaze. Reluctantly, he allowed his fingers to release their desperate clutch on her hands, shuddering as her fingers slid through his as the last electric contact was lost.

As he spoke and released her hand in a slow motion that was more of a caress than anything else, Mary pressed her eyes closed and lowered her head, shuddering with the loss of this final connection between them. Instantly she felt cooler, aware of her unbuttoned coat. She shivered once and presently opened her eyes, but still stared at the ground, now that they had parted, unable to meet his eyes or look anywhere near him. Eventually she slowly moved her fingers up to do up her coat over her breast but her fingers trembled so much that she fumbled over each button, her blush growing more and more pronounced as irritation with her failure to perform this simple task under his eyes mingled with her embarrassment.

Not knowing quite how he should be feeling, Matthew too stared at the ground, unwilling to trust himself to look at her again. How on earth had he allowed himself to lose control so? Blood pounded through his veins, feeling warm all over from the rush of desire still, but it was tinged with a cold fear at his lack of control when it came to her. He stood awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. What precisely was one supposed to say to a lady to whom one had no attachment, yet had just kissed so fiercely and wonderfully?

It seemed that hours of ringing, heavy silence must have passed in which Mary did up every single one of the buttons on her coat, during which time she managed to finally get her breathing under control and stand up without the support of the tree. Eventually her hands fell back to her side and there was no excuse.

"I should-" It still came out in that peculiar voice. She cleared her throat, the noise sounding overly harsh in the stillness. She glanced at him and quickly away. "I should return home. It must be almost time to dress for dinner!" What an inane thing to say. She pursed her lips. "Will you pass my basket, please, Matthew?" She was not going to stoop for it in front of him! Anyway, she was not sure her legs would support her if she did.

His eyebrows rose slightly at her request. To speak of dressing for dinner, and passing baskets, after what had just passed between them! Still, he could hardly think of anything better to say. Never taking his eyes from hers, he stooped to retrieve her basket and held it out.

"Mary," his voice sounded strangely affected. He paused, unsure of how to continue. "You... You know that I..."

He trailed off, hoping that she would understand the intimation behind his inadequate words. That he cared for her. That he was entranced, obsessed, under a spell by her. It was ridiculous, it was impossible, but there it was. His eyes locked onto hers, trying to convey what he was unable to put into words.

Even though afterwards she would realise with frustration that she had absolutely no idea at all what he was trying to say, in that moment Mary felt deep in her heart that she understood. She met his eyes tentatively, unable to avoid it any longer and just nodded once. She found herself unable to speak. As she gazed at him, she reached out and took the basket, her hand accidentally brushing his, sending a shock of electricity through her entire body. Her eyes widened and she pulled her hand and the basket back sharply, side stepping away from him and the tree. Her heart pounded in fear and longing and she turned quickly, shaking her head as much at herself as at him. She quickly took two steps backwards, looking at him with a lingering, intense stare and turning to walk away, breaking the eye-contact only at the very last minute. Her knuckles clutching the basket were white.

Matthew stared after her for a moment, attempting in vain to calm himself after the brief skim of her fingers had sent fresh waves of desire through him. He swallowed hard. This was utterly ridiculous. It was Mary, he couldn't, she wouldn't ever... Wouldn't she? He didn't know what to think any more. Pale faced, his breathing still shallow and ragged, he tore his eyes away and turned back.

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><p><em>AN: Hope you enjoyed this little break from S02 angst! :-)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: So we wrote a random sequel. We should say that this is by no means meant to be a coherent story. This chapter is basically an excuse for more arguing and kissing THIS TIME IN THE RAIN! Oh yes. The premise is that somebody in the village (not unsurprisingly) saw M/M's epic make-out and told everyone about it. Including Robert. Who is now (not unreasonably) forcing them to get married. Neither are particularly happy about that and the weather's really angsty too. So there we go. Enjoy!_

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><p>It was unbearable. To hear her father start talking calmly about settlements to Matthew while she was still in the room as if this - this <em>plot<em> was acceptable in any way was beyond the pale. Mary had murmured noncommital agreement up to now - what else could she do especially when Matthew was being of no help whatsoever? - but she could not stand it a moment longer.

"Excuse me," she said tightly, interrupting whatever her father was saying, her voice a little higher than normal, and pushed her way out of the room. Once in the hall she stalked to the front door as if in a dream and threw open the doors. As soon as she was outside, something snapped and she ran down the steps and as far out along the drive as she could before shortness of breath forced her to stop. Only then did she realise how heavily it was raining. She did not care.

Matthew spun to look after her as she swept outside. His eyes drifted closed as he uttered an almost inaudible groan. After a second had passed he turned back to Lord Grantham, who was also staring at the door with raised eyebrows. He frowned, not wishing to make any apology to the earl, for in truth he felt as equally put upon as he was sure Mary did. Glancing out of the window, he suddenly noticed the weather.

Desperate to leave this room and this conversation, unbearable as it was, he pursed his lips and cursorily muttered, "If you'll excuse me, Lord Grantham, I think I should..."

The words trailed from his lips, and he turned and departed without giving further reason. Right now, he wasn't sure he cared whether the earl thought it rude. Stepping quickly into the hall, he cast his eyes up just to make sure Mary had not simply gone upstairs, when he saw the outer door swinging open and her figure, blurred through the rain. His first thought being for her safety and comfort, he ran outside, blinking the heavy droplets out of his eyes as he caught up to her.

"Mary... Mary!" he shouted, his voice muffled in the thick air.

Matthew's voice was fainter than it would have been in better weather. Over the splashing of the rain on the path he sounded further away than he really was. Mary balled her hands into fists. Would she ever be left alone? As she realised that if her father got his way (and he would because he always did) she never would be alone again, she heaved a bitter, almost laughing sob.

"Go away! Go _away_!" she shrieked without turning around.

Matthew let out a harsh sigh of frustration. Did she not think he was equally as dissatisfied with the entire thing as she? Perhaps a little harshly, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her sharply to face him, an angry frown on his face.

"Mary! For goodness sake, look at yourself! It's all ridiculous, I know, but you're only going to injure yourself behaving in this manner!"

He found his frustrated glare difficult to continue with the heavy rain streaming into his eyes, and brusquely swiped his free arm across his face in a vain attempt to clear his vision.

Mary had rarely felt so bad tempered, even the last time they had met. She was so angry and miserable that she felt her heart would burst with it. Never before had she felt so powerless. She tried to pull her arm out of Matthew's grasp but she could not even manage that.

"Injure myself? What of it!" she cried bitterly. "It would make things much simpler for everyone if I did!"

He gripped her elbow tighter as she tugged against him. As agitated as he was, her throwaway comment cut him deeply. His voice took on a low, dangerous tone, though he still had to almost shout above the weather.

"Don't be such a silly girl, Mary!" She made him absolutely boil with frustration; though he knew her distress, her response to it angered him. "Do you think this is what I want? Throwing yourself recklessly around like this will serve nothing!"

She tugged back, her face gaining an expression of mulish obstinacy that would have been amusing in any other situation, with her hair bedraggled and plastered to her head.

"I, throwing myself around recklessly? If that bothered you so much perhaps you should have thought about it before insulting me in public like that the other day!"

Matthew let out a sudden, harsh laugh of incredulity.

"Insulted you?" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her. "Forgive me Mary but as I recall you did not object so at the time! You were hardly innocent in the act!"

The entire sight of her made him simmer, the cold rain pouring down the back of his neck doing nothing to dampen the fire in him. How could she speak so callously of it?

Mary glanced automatically at his lips noticing a bead of rain water on the upper one. Had he noticed? She flung her free arm out in a useless gesture of remonstrance even as she flushed at the remembrance and how - how utterly, deliriously happy she had felt for a very short while when she had been in his arms.

"_Hardly__innocent_? Think about what you are insinuating! I am a lady, Matthew!" She flung all of her rage and wounded pride and false maidenhood behind this last phrase. It had rarely seemed more incongruous.

"Yes, you are!" he yelled back in her face, unconsciously taking a step towards her.

His hands balled into fists by his side, his nails digging into his palms to distract himself from the rage of feelings within him that he didn't want to think about at the memory of it.

"So what drove you to it?" he angrily challenged her. "Deny it if you will, Mary, but we both know full well that we were both responsible for it! The very fact that you _are_ a lady of propriety suggested to me, clearly foolishly, that you had actually cared about something!"

He did not say, 'about me', for he hardly dared comprehend that thought. But _something_ had driven her, as it had driven him.

She shook her head at him more in negation of the situation than of what he was actually suggesting, even as she was forced to lean back as he invaded her personal space. (The drop of water was still there.)

"How- how do you think it is possible for me to tell what I felt or why or - or anything now? I suppose you know what motivated you, of course!" she shot back as a challenge.

Matthew drew back in defence, his expression twisting almost to a sneer in his irritation.

"Do not deflect, Mary. I imagine it was much the same as that which motivated you. You will not blame me for this, just because you are angry that we were seen!"

He turned his face from her in anger, glaring out into the rain.

"You can't at least pretend to be happy about the result!" Mary responded furiously, deflecting even further, trying not to think about whether he had felt the same as her. "Papa may be overjoyed that he can force us to play out his ideal succession games in a real life puppet show, but I hate it all!" She began to shiver almost uncontrollably.

His eyes flashed back to hers, burning darkly. "Do you imagine I do not? That I welcome this?" He despairingly felt himself beginning to lose control as she riled him further and further. Without thinking, he shouted, "This is not how I wanted this to happen, Mary!"

His eyes widened as he realised what he had said, his chest heaving with angered, heavy breaths and Mary wrapped her arms tightly round her chest in an effort to stop her shivering. Lord, she had no coat! And neither did he. His drenched shirt clung to his body and she could see every muscle... How - how could she be thinking like this? She was angry, so angry, and all she wanted -

"Well, how did you want it then?" she shouted back, noticing as she did that the drop of water had disappeared somehow. She pressed her eyes closed for a second in despair at herself, him, and the world in general.

Matthew swallowed nervously, beginning to shake slightly from a mixture of sheer frustration and the fact that he was utterly drenched. Rivulets of rainwater ran down his face and neck, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortably aware of the state of them.

"It is not something I can say that I had thought a great deal about!" he flung back at her in desperate deflection. "I only know that it seems we are hardly in a fit state to consider marriage at the moment. I should imagine that being able to hold a civil conversation at least might be a preferable state of things!"

In truth, he did not know what he was saying; he'd become distracted by the wet glistening of Mary's skin in the rain and of the trickle of water down the pulsing base of her throat and onto her chest. He squeezed his eyes shut against it.

"I don't know about that," responded Mary with bitter flippancy. "I have never heard civil conversation ever held up as a requirement for matrimony! In our case, that is probably a good thing."

An even greater shiver passed through her and she felt that prickly sensation in her nose that presaged a really enormous sneeze. She covered her mouth and nose with one hand to try to restrain it.

Matthew opened his mouth ready to snap back at her when he saw her nose wrinkle and her hand rise to her face. His eyes widened slightly, and he almost reached out to her; why, he did not know, it was merely an instinct.

The sneeze came and she reached blindly and grabbed his arm, stamping her feet on the sodden gravel.

"Civil - _conversation_!" she managed to bite out again as she sneezed.

Matthew stared in shock for a moment at her hand clutching at his arm, the sudden heat of contact flashing through him. Instinctively he reached and placed his other hand on her shoulder, as if to steady her from the force of it. His frown deepened in fresh determination.

"Really, Mary, it is not sensible at all to be out here any more. Look at us!"

He gripped her shoulder a little more tightly, his voice softening a fraction, despite the persistent simmer of anger at her unending deflection and flippancy. His care overrode all that, contrary to his more determined intentions.

"Please, just come inside. If you wish to continue abusing me there, it shall not surprise me, but it would be foolish to remain in this condition now!

Standing up straight with her hand still holding his arm - it was so warm and firm in comparison with everything else out here - she was unable to do anything other than look at him: at the way his tie was limp and silly looking stuck to his sodden shirt - he should take it off; at the way his hair plastered to his face and how water ran down his cheeks. He was too close to her, far too close, with his hand on her shoulder. She ducked her head, her cheeks flaring with colour at the way her heart had begun to pound and the acknowledgement of the desire that made her almost dizzy. Now that they had kissed once did it mean that it would be impossible to meet him without wanting to repeat it? Had she no self control at all? And yet, she had kissed other men - Lord, she had done more than kiss! and never, never had she felt need like this before. It was humiliating and exhilarating. She shivered again and shook her head, not daring to look at him, his following words returning her to the original source of misery.

"No – no, we can't. My father-"

Matthew's heart burned within him, and he felt as though it were trying to explode out of his chest. Every single inch of him was prickling, tingling, itching to move closer to her. It was a physical effort to maintain his small distance. Yet to kiss her again was the very last thing he wanted, not now, not like this, not with everything that had happened.. And yet it was what he wanted the most in the entire world, so much so that nothing else seemed to matter. Angrily forcing his mind back to the matter at hand, he dipped his head to peer at her, his eyes narrowing in concern at her pitiful state.

"Your father doesn't matter, Mary. We can deal with that, with him, later. All that is important now is that you warm yourself up, or you will become ill for no reason at all!"

He didn't even realise that as he spoke, his hand had crept up from her shoulder to her cheek. His touch sent a bolt of heat through Mary, warming her for a moment. She closed her eyes and leaned into it quite without being aware of what she did. As she did, she sighed gently and relaxed her tight grip on his arm, only resting her hand against it now. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body – he was now so close and she unconsciously leaned closer too. He could easily have embraced her and held her against him.

Matthew gulped, a shiver running through him at Mary's complete oblivion to his words. His lips parted a fraction as he felt her lean into his hand. He shuffled a tiny step forwards, gently nudging her face up towards him, trembling with nervous energy and... anticipation? Surely he, they, could not.. It was incomprehensible. Yet the building heat within him protested. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, he stared deeply into her eyes, questioning, wondering.

"Mary..."

It was not quite a question, not quite a warning and not quite an invitation, but somewhere between the three.

She opened her eyes again at the sound of his voice so close to her ears and sucked in a breath at the sight of his wide, blue eyes right in front of her. She blinked once.

"Oh, Matthew, _why_?" she breathed in soft frustration before she leaned forward, let her eyes flicker downwards again to where there was a new drop of water, and gave herself up to the inevitable with remarkably little inner complaint.

A thrill shuddered through him in that heated moment of realisation. His eyes fluttered, weighted by raindrops as his sigh of contentment was swiftly muffled by her lips. With a more knowing confidence this time, he kissed her, firmly and thoroughly, shuddering at the way her drenched skin slipped against his. The bother of their marriage was forgot; every other worry and thought fled from his mind as he gave himself up to her, relishing the sensation of the rain pouring and mingling between them as he pressed closer to her.

As their lips met Mary sucked a little on the spot where the offending drop of water had been before she simply leaned herself as close against him as she could and returned his kiss eagerly. It was different this time. She knew what to do and in a certain way, she knew him. Her hand slid from his arm up to rub against the back of his neck, the sodden collar helping her to have greater access to his wet skin. Her dress and his shirt were so thin - she could feel his heart hammering under hers and it made her almost delirious. What did it matter that they could not talk to each other? She could not give up this pleasure.

He gasped as her hand slid over his wet skin, the sensation almost too much to bear. He lowered a hand to her waist, clutching slightly at the thin, sodden material. His lips roved from hers, to her cheeks, her chin, her neck, every point of contact blissfully enhanced by the warm rain. Never had he imagined such pleasure from so simple a thing. A low murmur sounding in his throat, he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, daringly grazing it with his tongue before kissing her more forcefully, more desperately, his hands clutching her tighter.

Somehow kissing Matthew for the second time was better than kissing him for the first time. The anticipation of what she knew would happen just before it happened added a whole extra layer to her feelings. She stood on tiptoe and moulded herself to him - much easier this time round without hats, coats or even jackets to bar them. Her hand that was not stroking his neck and tangling in his hair, clasped his back and pressed against the soaked shirt, which attached itself to her wet hand as she moved her hand over the full expanse of his back. Letting her lips leave his only momentarily, she dragged hers across his cheek to half kiss half lick at the moisture there before capturing his lips again.

He expelled a deep sigh of pleasure as her lips trailed across his skin, his hand slipping up to twist into her sodden, bedraggled hair. He realised that he had never touched her hair before, and the strange realisation of this new intimacy sent a fresh shudder through him. A low, almost inaudible groan reverberated deep in his chest. His nose rubbed against hers as he tilted his head, exploring every inch of her lips and mouth as the kiss deepened. If only this bliss could last forever! If only there were no consequence to it. If only he could tell her how he felt with such eloquent perfection as this intimacy seemed to have.

His hands were in her hair! The feeling of his fingers on her scalp was so unexpected and she gasped, wishing that the pins might easily fall out and she shook her head as if to help them do so and probably a few did for certainly about half of her hair tumbled down round her shoulders. The water from it dripped down the back of her dress and trickled down her back; she arched against Matthew to escape from the cold, moaning a little as she did so. But she could not escape the violent shudder that followed and she pulled her mouth away from his, bumping their foreheads together as she wrapped her arms more tightly round him.

"We have to go inside!" she gasped against his lips, and shivered again.

Matthew's eyes closed, a small sigh of pent up frustration leaving his lips, feeling suddenly empty and cold as she pulled away. He knew she was right, and in truth he was furious at himself for having allowed himself to be distracted. If she became ill now, he would hold himself wholly responsible.

Stroking his thumb absently across her cheek, he murmured, "Yes, we do." He smiled slightly against her lips. "I told you we must; we allowed ourselves to be distracted!"

With an enormous effort, he pulled himself away from her, retaining an arm tightly around her shoulders in the pretence that it might offer her some protection from the cold. He wanted to kiss her again; just briefly.. But now that they had stopped it seemed impossible, and he was unsure if she would welcome or spurn such affection. He felt unsure of everything. Rubbing her back briskly, he urged her back towards the house, not knowing what on earth to say to her. What words could possibly have any meaning now?

She sighed as the firm physical contact was lost but she felt cheered by his keeping his arm round her and she wrapped her arm tightly round his waist as they went back to the house. Despite her desire to return to the house, she found she was dragging her feet more than him.

"Matthew..." she began tentatively, and found she had to clear her throat as they walked, her head down against the blinding rain, finding it easier to talk without looking at him. "I hate what my father is making us do, but I wonder -" She slowed even further. "I wonder if perhaps we might..."

She could not finish the sentence and managed to look up at his bedraggled, wet, emotional face as they reached the portico in front of the house.

His lips quirked upwards as she turned to him, unable to hide his affection at the pitiful, yet utterly enchanting sight of her. He felt so much that he could not express, he hardly knew it himself.

"I think..." he wondered out loud, "that perhaps the hate might lie in the fact of being made to do it... rather than in the act itself."

He held his breath, hardly able to believe he had dared express such a sentiment. Mary drew a breath sharply at that and let her eyes roam over his face for a while, drinking him in, before she replied. There was nothing in his expression that was offensive. In fact he looked hopeful - oh, so hopeful. Her heart jumped treacherously - or could it be called treacherous now? Her arm was still round his waist but she raised her other hand. It hovered just in front of him.

"Perhaps," she acknowledged quietly and soberly, and brushed her fingers gently and daringly against his cheek, wiping away some of the moisture on it, before dropping her hand again.

His heart leapt at her simple reply. Suddenly he no longer noticed the cold drip of rain down his back; only her. He reached down and took her hand, allowing his fingers to caress and entwine with hers, before giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Perhaps," he echoed, flashing her a small, honest, grateful smile, before concern took over once more and he ushered her finally inside. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind them. Casting his eyes around the hall, he almost whispered, "I suppose we had better find your father. Rather; you should have a hot bath; I will speak to your father. Agreed?"

Fearful that at any moment they may be chanced upon, he gazed into her eyes before daringly leaning forwards and pressing one last swift, searing kiss to her lips.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This really is the end; however fun it would be to write a forced marriage fic, we're not intending to do it at the moment. However, we will be starting to post the _other _sequel to "Storm in a Tea-cup" which is currently 50,000 words long, about a third of which is solid smut. And we've hardly started the main story yet. IT WILL BE EPIC and you should look out for it! Hope you enjoyed reading this piece of frivolity anyway and reviews are always welcome. Thanks!_

_OrangeShipper & Silvestria_


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